America's Love Child
by aerocats
Summary: After years of living in the national spotlight, Rosie White finally learns the truth behind her father, his identity, and the infamous scandal she was born of.


_Public scandals are America's favorite parlor sport. Learning about the flaws and misdeeds of the rich and famous seems to satisfy our egalitarian yearnings._ -Robert Dallek

Long before the winter months of toil and treachery, there was stability under Rosie's head. Before her family had to move, before the comfort of their own living room was swarmed with cameras and confrontations, everything seemed okay. Before Rosie's mother would always answer calls from her old employer with a glint of guilt in her eye and a glimmer of fearfulness, they would laugh and chat in a way that became extinct once the details of the affair came out. Years and years before Rosie White-Jones could even comprehend what affairs had gone down to conceive such a charming baby as her, she had never even considered hating her father. The man would seldom stick around, due to circumstances that weren't his fault (according to her mother), but when he did he brought chocolates and cheer and some sort of calm to their familial unit, a calm that would mask the harsh whispers that were exchanged between the two adults of the house, carefully concealed from Rosie's sharp ears.

Alfred F. Jones always came with gifts from his job in Washington, a job that was of the utmost importance, a job that held long hours Alfred could never sacrifice to see his family. A job that, despite being less than an hour away from the Whites' quaint home, kept Alfred away from his daughter and her mother for weeks, even months, at a time. Even when he returned, he would often slip away from movie nights and breakfast chatter to take calls in a hushed voice.

And ultimately, he disappeared. He vanished, not quietly as if simply passing through a thick fog into oblivion, but violently, igniting a fire in their home, disregarding the fact that the family he would so often leave behind was still clinging to the furniture.

He should have stuck around. But Alfred had his duties, not simply as a government official, but as a "ambassador to the nation" (as he would later tell Rosie, a half-truth that felt like a whole-lie), and such an occupation allowed no time for sacrifices or secrecy. Her mother was suddenly under fire by the press for abandoning her journalistic duties to make love with the man she was supposed to be tearing apart. After the presses had found out that the articles she had written about the Mysterious Government Official absolutely no one in the nation but the president knew the purpose of, she was done for. The report had been tailored for Alfred, by Alfred, to display him in the best light possible, and the public knew it.

After her family's dirty little secret had been revealed to the entire nation, Alfred- not "dad", as Rosie had once referred to him- took the risky decision in bringing his daughter to one of his top-secret meetings. Men and women in suits stared awkwardly at her, fiddling their thumbs. They either glared at Alfred, or stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the creature that was holding his hand.

One of the men sitting next to Alfred, her "Uncle Matthew", as he introduced himself, whispered something in her father's ear. Rosie knew she shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but her sensitive ears caught a few words.

"Does she know yet, Alfred? Please tell me you've told her already."

Alfred glanced worriedly at Rosie. She stared at her feet. After a few seconds of silence, Alfred shook his head slowly at Uncle Mattie.

"Listen, it's fine," Alfred adjusted his glasses nervously. "Does she really need to find out?"

"I don't know," sneered another suited man to the left of Rosie. Despite looking about the same age as her dad, this man felt much older and far more dangerous. He had a distinct accent, one Rosie's 7-year old mind couldn't quite pinpoint but would've found rather humorous, if it hadn't been for the words he said. "How long are you going to stick around before you flounce away from all familial responsibilities?"

Alfred gaped at the accented man. Wide-eyed and incredulous, he glanced at Rosie, then back at the man, then back at Rosie, then back at the man. Rosie shivered. She hated it when her father was mad (which was often in those days).

"I don't know Arthur, what would you suggest? You've had some experience in neglectful child raising, after all."

Arthur stiffened for a second, but ultimately relaxed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not one to give advice, but I suggest you create some memories right now, because you won't have much time left," he frowned at Rosie. "She'll find out what devastating anomaly she is soon enough, and when she does…"

"What's he talking about?" Rosie asked her dad.

"Nothing, absolutely…" Alfred stood up briskly to confront the man. "Arthur, I'm going to give you ten fu…" he glanced again at Rosie. "I'm going to give you ten seconds to get up and leave before I pound your face into this lovely table we're sitting at." The way he was fuming, as if physically restrained, told Rosie that he wanted to say more, which made his irate demeanor even more frightening.

The man named Arthur, who had previously been introduced to Rosie but soon forgotten, stood up calmly as if he was simply getting up to use the restroom. He crooked his head to face Rosie.

"I'm very sorry, my dear, for the wretched blood that runs through your veins," he said to the girl.

Alfred emitted a stream of jumbled curses and attempted to fling himself at Arthur. Matthew restrained him, and after a few minutes of tension, the meeting resumed, as if nothing had happened.

Rosie hadn't thought much of Arthur's words until her father left. Until the cold and heartless winter came, and Alfred stopped showing up and the press suddenly did. It was the kind of juicy gossip the masses ate up: not only had Alfred F. Jones, secret assistant to the President, hooked up with the reporter supposedly exposing him, but he hadn't even bothered to stick around once the shit hit the fan.

And suddenly Rosie understood. It didn't matter what her mother told her, that Alfred simply couldn't face the backlash, that he was busy, etc. etc. etc. It went on and on, like some awful comedy that had taken a turn for the worst.

She cursed the blood running through her veins, the blood of a man who came into her world with kisses and kindness and left with nothing but memories that only made Rosie feel contemptuous and conflicted.


End file.
